Two Headed Dragon
by Holytaxaccountantcountsmytaxes
Summary: Dramione, non-human Draco. In the midst of a magical natural disaster, Draco's well-kept secret is in danger of being revealed. Trapped alone with the Golden Trio, will he be able to control it while fighting the dangers lurking in the shadows, or will everything fall apart? And... might a certain witch be able to help him? Alternate sixth year.
1. Chapter 1

A/N at the bottom!

* * *

_When he was six, he decided that he didn't like being inside very much; especially when the bright, very inviting sun rays were drawing thick, ancient pillars into the dusty air of the library. One window was slightly ajar, but no breath of air dared enter the room._

_He put a scrap of paper between the yellow-tinged pages and silently shut his book, carefully balancing it onto the already shaky tower of books next to him. It stacked nearly as high as he was tall and that had to say something – after all, he _was_ tall for his age!_

_Pushing himself up, the boy jumped from the cushioned bench he had sat on, his bare feet soft against the hard, wooden floor. Stealthily, he padded over to the window, carefully peeking behind every bookshelf so as not to be discovered. He drew himself up onto the windowsill and opened the heavy window completely. The air outside was even more thick and humid, and the landscape in the distance flickered like a fading dream shortly after waking. _

Never warm enough.

_A small black bird passed by, flying towards the opposite wall of the mansion and landing on its roof. When the boy squinted _just so_, he could spot another bird of the same colour, bouncing around its friend and picking at something that looked like a heap of sticks and dirty leaves. _

_In an erratic flutter of wings the first bird took off again, darting by the window at a speed seemingly impossible for such a small creature, first turning left, then right, and finally vanishing into the adjacent forest._

We could go after him, you know.

_The other bird stayed with their small nest for a few more seconds. When it left, too, the boy saw it. The sunlight reflected on something between the leaves, just slightly, but it was definitely there._

Gold.

_A treasure._

_When later that day, one of the house elves found him on the roof, clutching a golden Galleon in his small hands and feet dangling down the wall, he was reminded by mummy to _never put it off again, or I'll be very sad if you hurt yourself.

* * *

"Damn this thing!"

Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall opposite her two best friends Harry and Ron. The sound of Hogwarts' students enjoying their lunch over carefree laughter was to her a liberating song of juvenile innocence. After the Ministry's public acknowledgement of Voldemort's return last summer, things had been rather difficult. Not trying to keep secret any more, the Death Eaters' raids on Muggles and Muggle-borns had become ever more frequent and Hermione had grown ever more worried about her parents' well-being. And then there was Harry who had drawn into himself since the death of his godfather, sometimes sitting around staring into space, lost either in the past or in his future tasks.

But today, sitting amongst the loud chatter of her friends, Hermione felt like a normal teenager living in a world without the dreadful foreshadowing of a terrible war. Sitting in one of the most enchanted and enchanting places she knew, she tucked into her meal heartily and had a bag nearly bursting with treasures – some of the more interesting textbooks – between her feet, gladly letting the thick warm beams of sunlight streaming through the Great Hall's roof bless her with the last warmth of autumn. She felt deeply at home.

She and her friends were thoroughly enjoying their lunch after a horrid two hours of brewing a most disgustingly smelling potion, or rather _the_ most disgustingly smelling potion she had ever had the displeasure of brewing. The heavy fumes had seeped deeply into their robes and hair, blessing every inch of them with their lovely fragrance, and thus Hermione was anxious to take a quick shower and then begin on her homework assignment. This week, they were supposed to find out why the use of Dandelion instead of Mandrake roots would make their potion more potent as a fever and cramp reliever, but could also lead to some disturbing side effects like a permanent blue tinting of the skin in the abdominal areas.

"Why isn't it moving?"

Ron's complaining voice vibrated in the air and struck it gently in a dissonant chord, but the way the tip of his tongue was making a concentrated effort of wetting his lower lip – something that simply wouldn't have been on his mind in more dire circumstances – told her that nothing was seriously amiss.

And just so, when she was shifting her eyes to what he was complaining about, she noticed that he was waving his wand rather furiously at a small Chocolate Frog which was sitting peacefully upon its wrapping, which in turn was spread over the redhead's already empty plate, heavily wrinkled.

"Hermione, do something!" he pleaded when a small shower of sparks hit the offending object in front of him, gaining nothing more than slowly melting it. Staring at the little figure that was slowly dissolving into a puddle at its legs, Hermione asked him what happened while putting down her fork and trying to suppress a grin.

"My Chocolate Frog is broken! I got it for Halloween and only opened it now, but it isn't moving at all!" As to accentuate his point, he poked at it with his hand, making a hole in its already slightly melted frame and leaving his fingers stained in a light brown colour.

"I have no idea how to help you, Ron," she replied with an as serious voice as she could muster, which wasn't serious at all. "Looks like some sort of manufacturer's error to me. Maybe the Croakoa went bad?"

Ron fixed her with a glance that told her just what exactly he thought of _that_ idea. Frustratedly, he threw his wand onto the table. "This never happened before!" he pouted, nonetheless taking a huge chunk of it and stuffing it into his mouth. His angry frown while chewing furiously on the chocolate – more than Hermione thought could ever fit in someone's mouth – looked more adorable than anything else.

Harry was reading the backside of the card, asking Ron if he could keep it since he already got the same one last time, which was of course unfortunate and he _had_ of course hoped that he'd get a new one for the collection, but _still_, you can't just let it go to waste...

Letting a fond smile creep onto her face, Hermione turned back to her mashed potatoes. She was glad how well it was going between her and Ron. After shortly trying to be more than friends at the beginning of the term, they had agreed that they simply didn't work, deciding to return to how things were before. To Hermione, everything about them was clear. Sometimes, though, she didn't know if Ron really felt the same way as she did, or if he still hoped for something... different. She briefly wondered if she'd get extra points if she mentioned the possible benefits of adding a bit of Silverweed into the potion.

When Hermione noticed the boys slipping into a conversation about Quidditch, she tuned them out completely and thought ahead on the books she would look into once she'd get to the library. The rest of lunch passed rather quickly, and although they were all still covered in that atrocious smell, the day was going considerably well – but in the world of Hermione Granger, "considerably well" was almost always followed by something not-really-well-at-all. And more often than not that something went by the name of Draco Malfoy.

The three of them had only just left the Great Hall when they met him in a nearly empty corridor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, seemingly waiting for someone. Probably his two goons, Hermione surmised. One leg pressed against the cold stones, he almost looked peaceful staring into the empty space in front of him – until, of course, he heard them approach.

"If it isn't our beloved golden boy and his sidekicks," he sneered once he spotted them, everything peaceful about him vanquished and replaced by some kind of restless anger. When he pushed himself away from the wall to face them, a strand of hair fell into his face and he uncrossed his arms, brushing it back. He looked at each of them in turn, eyes narrowing more and more, and when his gaze finally rested on Ron he blinked once, frowned, and then widened his eyes with a gasp Hermione identified as mock surprise.

"Weasel_..._ but... where is it?" was served in a way too high-pitched voice.

"Where is _what_?" was passed back through clenched teeth.

"The leash. For your Mudblood pet. So she can't run away from you... again." Score.

Ron's ears went as red as his hair.

"You..." he pressed through teeth now clenched so tight and grinding together with such force they should by all laws of physics have turned to dust from abrasion. Rolling up his sleeves, Ron reached for his wand, ignoring Hermione's half-hearted attempts at grabbing his arm while murmuring how he was above all this and shouldn't stoop to that level. He easily shook her off and began to raise his hand, but Malfoy already had his wand pointed at him and was about to utter an incarnation when Hermione heard a shouted_ Expelliarmus_ behind her right ear. _Harry. _Better seeker, better reflexes, she thought.

There was a loud bang.

Instead of just disarming its target, the spell ripped Malfoy's robes completely apart, sending scraps of black cloth flying in all directions and littering the floor like solid raindrops. He was flung into the air and dropped down a few feet further down the hall with a somewhat muffled sound.

Harry seemed as startled by this as the rest of them, and stashing his wand in his trouser pocket he rushed to the crumbled form of their school mate who had already jumped up again before they even had the chance to reach him. Backing away from them with suspicious eyes, he shed the remnants of his robes to the ground, leaving a trail of cloth behind. His tie was vertically cut in two in the middle in a ridiculously straight line.

"You'll pay for that," he spat venomously, turning around and stalking down the hall with the maximum of pride possible for someone wearing torn and tattered clothes. He went left at the first turn.

"I don't know what happened!" Harry exclaimed when Ron patted him on the back and congratulated him on "showing that ferret".

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Ron didn't even seem to want to hear his best friend's explanation.

Hermione wondered when the boys would finally come to realize that their behaviour was childish at best, but decided to help them vanish the tattered clothes with a spell, anyway. Distracted by her internal and external scolding she almost didn't notice that there was something else on the ground, glinting in the torchlight._  
_

* * *

Draco was rushing down one of those generic corridors towards the common room, sending one of his most patented death glares at anyone who'd so much as raise his eyes at his general direction. Even wearing nothing but rags and lacking the dramatic billow of his robes, there weren't many people that dared.

Fuming, he clenched and unclenched his wand hand. He didn't know what it was, but every time he saw that Weasel, something inside of him began to simmer and boil like a ripe potion. He was just so bloody _stupid_, it couldn't even be legal. And the Scarhead – how could he even dare to humiliate him like that? Oh, he'd wipe the smirk off their faces, yet. They'd never see what hit them.

_Oh, I'd love to see that._

He stopped dead in his tracks.

No. Not possible. He must've imagined it.

Shaking his head he went on, pushing through a particularly heavy oaken door and making his way down a winding staircase, step after step further into the shadows of the dungeons. To him, this ominous "darkness" of the dungeons wasn't only literal darkness – after all, there were enough torches embedded into the walls to light everything but the darkest of cracks in the stone – but rather some kind of increased pressure and a more absolute silence than you could find anywhere else in the castle. A heavier atmosphere of sorts. The feeling was hard to describe, Draco had to admit, but it was probably the reason why many people said they felt goosebumps when they went down these steps. Of course, that could probably also stem from the fact that the students from his house weren't exactly well-liked and the dungeons _were_ Slytherin territory, without question. He let his hand trail along the slightly wet stones, tracing every crack and mould in and between them, and it didn't take long for the well-known humid smell to well into his nose. Draco liked the feeling of the dungeons.

_It's been so long. And lonely._

He tripped over one step and crashed down the few remaining stairs, landing painfully on his back. Holding his breath, he rolled over to the side and immediately reached for his throat. There was nothing there. He spun around in circles on the ground, looking and groping into every big enough gap, but the only thing he found was dirt.

The blood was rushing in his ears and he heard a rat scuttling closely along the wall of the potions classroom, tail hitting against the stacked glass jars in a nearly melodic rhythm and how could he not have noticed sooner?

_Don't panic,_ he told himself. Pushing himself up, he hurried to the common room and up into the dormitory, stripping off his remaining torn clothes and casting them unceremoniously to the ground. He looked in every pocket, no matter how small, twice or even three times, but of course it wasn't there, either. He would've never consciously taken it off.

Changing into more presentable clothes, he took a few moments to calm down and decided that he'd probably lost it somewhere in his fight with Potter. That was the only possibility, really. Just as he was about to leave and search the corridor where they had fought, Crabbe and Goyle came up the stairs, their arms full of food. "Hey, Draco, we thought you'd wait for us!" Goyle grunted, unloading his 'treasure' unto his bed, crumbs scattering everywhere."Not now," Draco muttered in response, leaving them behind and slamming the door.

_Why do you fight it?_

His brisk walk turned into a sprint and he might as well have flown up the stairs, down the corridor and the next and the other until he was back at the place were they had fought. Of course, there was nothing there, _either_. They must've taken it with them.

_Fight yourself?_

He might not get into the Gryffindor common room, but he would bet his life that he could at least find one of the Golden Trio.

Upon pushing the door to the library open, the heavy scent of old parchment assaulted his nostrils. Where normally this would have supplied him with fond memories of hours upon hours of most comfortable reading surrounded by thick cushions, his mother distracting Lucius to keep him from witnessing how Draco would read such "inadequate literature", today there was only provided a slight irritation at the stuffy air. Yes, sometimes, the way too old memory of how his parents had taken a week-long vacation in Paris during which he'd spent his time doing nothing more but read books his father would've thrown a proper fit over would force itself into his mind for a few short but relished seconds. Not today.

He found her in a secluded corner near the entrance, bent deeply over a ridiculously thick tome and scribbling onto some paper. Two more books and a few sealed scrolls were scattered all over the small table and one piece of paper near the edge was in high danger of tumbling to the ground. He sneaked up on her and deliberately pounded his hands on the empty space right next to the wavering paper with force, both pleased and strangely annoyed when the item began its inevitable trip to the ground. It landed face down.

Granger jumped so hard at the sound, it was a surprise that she didn't throw her quill at him. As it was, she only dropped it onto her paper, splashing a huge drop of ink onto it which quickly spread like spidery blue veins. When she snapped her head up, her hair was thrown into the air, tumbling down in a great gushing wave and breaking on her shoulders. A ripple of fresh flowery shampoo tore through the monotonous library smell. Sadly, it ebbed away far too quickly.

"What do you want?" she snapped with a voice that sounded as though it could rip something in two, fixing him with her eyes. Eyes that betrayed her surprise, no matter how much her voice might have tried to hide it behind anger.

"I think you've got something of mine," Draco said, keeping his voice schooled infuriatingly calm while ignoring the small flames of fear that had been swirling and steadily growing inside his stomach. He needed it back.

_Swirling, swirling, hypnotising._

"I don't know what you're talking about," she huffed, puffing her cheeks and sitting up straighter. An orange sun's beam, having managed the tedious travel through one of the mucky windows, broke through her hair in one golden arch.

_Feisty liar, liar, liar._

He stepped around the table, crossing his left arm over hers and poising his hand on her book. His other hand grabbed the rough wooden back of her chair. She wasn't exactly trapped – her right side was completely free – but it was a small cage, anyway.

_How easy it would be to just take it from her, would it not? Take it, take it, take her._

She didn't scramble away. She didn't even lean away. She simply turned her head, slowly, facing him but never moving a muscle in her arm, face, body. She was perfectly still as a porcelain doll, letting him tower over her without really acknowledging it.

"Are you trying to scare me?" Her voice sounded slightly humorous.

_No, because that would be _fun_._

"It's a necklace. With a small red ruby pendant."

He studied her face closely, looking for clues of recognition. She blinked once, but otherwise her face was calm. _Too_ calm for Granger. And there was the smell again. Only shampoo, no perfume. He saw her heart beating in her neck, _thump, thump, thump_, much faster than his own, engraving itself in soft flesh.

_Why don't you just _take_ the treasure? Take it, Draco. _

No. No, he wouldn't.

_Or _can't_ you?_

"Listen, Granger," he spoke quietly, not wanting to draw this out any longer, not able to draw this out any longer, "it's an ancient family heirloom. I... I wouldn't want to lose it." He added the stutter for good measure, being sure that it would be able to influence noble Gryffindor Granger.

It worked.

Her eyes began to soften and she sighed, retracting her hands and laying them on her lap. Draco saw this as a sign to step back himself and did just that, standing silently aside in a slight hover.

_Boring._

"I... I guess I found _something_ on the ground," she murmured, cheeks slightly red, while bending down and rummaging in her ridiculously huge and stuffed bag. "I've got it here somewhere." She nodded along to her own words in agreement.

How could a person have _so much_ hair, Draco wondered suddenly.

Then she had her hand outstretched to him, the delicate chain slipping through her fingers like sand, a glinting ruby in the middle of her palm. He took it quickly, clenching his fingers around it protectively, shortly closing his eyes to appreciate the well-known hum of old magic.

Only...

_Interesting._

He snapped his eyes open again, bringing the necklace close to his face. It _seemed_ unmarred, but of course that couldn't fool him. "What have you done?" he asked loudly, all pretences of calmness forgotten, letting his arms drop to his sides, his fist driving the chain into his palm.

"I didn't do anything!" she argued, flapping her hair over her shoulders and crossing her arms over

her chest almost condescendingly. "It looks perfectly fine to me. Whatever is wrong, you probably did it yourself."

Now, that was it.

"You broke it!" he shrieked, not caring if his voice sounded like a banshee gone wild. He got one step closer to Granger who only raised her hands in a placating gesture, raising from her chair. She nearly tripped over it. Only a small consolation. He furiously waved his hand around in the air, not really sure what that would accomplish, but it felt strangely good.

"Don't lie to me! It was perfectly fine this morning." Another step closer.

"I told you, I have no idea what you're talking about!" She flushed.

_Look at those ripe red apple cheeks. _

"Must I remind you that this is a place of quiet and learning?" Madame Pince had appeared out of nowhere, standing between two shelves and resting her hands on her thin hips, scolding them in an exaggerated whisper. Granger turned beet red now, stepping around the table and mumbling intelligible apologies to her, fumbling around with some of the scattered papers. To Draco, it looked as though she was only creating more of a mess.

When she was seemingly convinced that they would behave, Pince turned around again and left after pinning them with one last dark glare, thick cloak billowing and bellowing behind her in fury.

_Spoilsport._

Granger raised her head again, meeting Draco's eyes. "Look, I'm sorry," she said after a soft sigh, stuffing her things into her bag, "but I really don't know anything about it. Maybe it broke when you fell down." She stopped her motions with a book on magical forest-herbs in her hand. "I could try a repair spell if you want?" Draco snorted a bit too inelegantly.

"I think that won't be necessary." As if it would work, anyway. Not on such ancient magic.

Something purred deep inside of him.

Granger shrugged, resuming her packing. When she was done, she slung the bag over her side, nodded to him once and left without another word.

_Swirling and burning._

The only thing left behind was the piece of paper that had dropped to the floor. Draco knelt down to retrieve it. Written on it was nothing more than a half-finished sentence about Silverweed, crossed out in one straight line.

* * *

A/N:

Rated T for now because not sure what will happen.

Please note that this is a "severe" WIP. I got many ideas already that I haven't written down yet, but I'm also excited to see what you guys think about this. I know not much happened yet, but in the next chapter the plot/action is going to be introduced. I don't know when the Dramione is going to start yet, but probably not too soon. But we'll see.

I appreciate all kinds of reviews, about anything that crosses your mind! Feel free to voice some concrit, too, especially concerning my Grammar, wording or other technical issues. I'm not a native speaker and don't have a Beta – I depend on you telling me if something sounds weird!

I'll of course upload the next chapter as soon as possible (the rough draft is already finished) but since I'm at the time quite busy studying, I probably won't have the most structured or frequent updating schedule in the future. Sorry for that. On the other hand, this gives you the opportunity to tell if there's something you liked and would like to see more of! :)

(Update: I merged the old first and second chapter into this one because it fit better, in case anyone was wondering. Also tweaked some things.)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Just so you know, I have merged the old first and second chapters, effectively making this the new "third" chapter by old count. Enjoy!

* * *

It had been a week since the fight between Harry, Ron and Malfoy.

The first two days after Malfoy had searched her out in the library, Hermione hadn't seen him in any of the classes they shared. Apparently, he was sick. Flu or something. She didn't really care that much, and when he returned to classes on Monday he was back to his normal slimy self and what happened in the library was nearly forgotten.

Hermione had been looking forward to Wednesday's double potions since she'd handed in the extra-long potions homework the week before. To her pleasure, Slughorn had been extremely happy with her hard work. Sadly, he had been a bit _too_ happy and had promptly decided to set up an additional project for the afternoon. They were supposed to find the Silverweed "one of his students" had mentioned in "his or her essay" to test the effect it could have on the cramp and fever potion by themselves. The proud look Slughorn had given her – and not Harry with his stupid book, mind you – had been enough to let everyone know that she was the cause for their "fun extra project".

Well, it wasn't as if everyone didn't already know her as the stuck-up, know-it-all bookworm.

They were supposed to go in three groups of four. "I want my best students to go together!" the potions master had said, not paying Ron any special mind when he shoved Harry, Hermione and – of all people – Draco Malfoy together, but the redhead tagged along anyway. Slughorn didn't seem to care that much.

That was how they were finding themselves at the edge of the forbidden forest on a slightly cloudy Wednesday afternoon, squinting at every weed hoping to finally spot the toothed woolly leaflets of Silverweed. Being well into November its yellow blossoms had long since withered, making it considerably harder to identify the plant. Hermione was just tugging at something – more and more starting to think that these plants just _didn't grow_ on Hogwarts' grounds – when she noticed Malfoy sitting on the ground a few feet beside her, twirling a small pointed stick between his slender fingers.

"You know, all of this would go _considerably_ faster if you just helped us like you are supposed to," she addressed him, throwing the infuriatingly useless weed in her hands to the ground and stalking over to him in the dry but squashy grass.

Malfoy looked up at her with his typical sneer in place, snapping the twig in two.

"What I do is none of your business, Mudblood," he drawled, leaning back and clasping his hands together over his head. His body was nearly completely engulfed in the especially long and pillowy grass that grew in large diameters around some of the thicker and taller trees. Hermione pursed her lips, but decided to let his comment pass. She always complained to her friends about their immaturity, telling them not to give into Malfoy's insults and just ignore him – she just _couldn't_ get riled up about it, herself. She wouldn't allow it. And most importantly, she wouldn't allow him to _win_ so easily.

"I know you don't like working with us," she began in a voice she most often used to explain things to people she didn't think could ever grasp the idea by themselves – which was quite often, she had to admit – and she knew it would make him furious, "and I certainly don't like working with you either, but this is a project that our grades depend on, and it would be –"

"Look," he interrupted her, throwing away the broken stick and rising, leaving behind a body-shaped dent in the grass. "I don't care about your grade. At all." The grass slowly bent upwards again now that it was free of the additional pressure, and it did so in a way that reminded Hermione of a magical dance, or maybe like snakes craning their heads out of a box. It certainly wasn't Muggle grass. "I only tugged along because Slughorn was seeing us off in the entrance hall. One of you will find that thing anyway, and we'll all get a good grade. I don't see a problem with that."

He had taken a small step closer to her and Hermione thought that it was a bit _too_ close, because besides being able to count each and every one of his ridiculously fine and tiny and slightly feminine pores she could _smell_ him – and since the air was completely calm, that smell couldn't have been mistakenly carried over by some traitorous breeze. It was something she couldn't quite place, but it wasn't natural; probably some perfume so exclusive and expensive someone looking like her wouldn't even be told the prize by the seller. His eyes darted between her left and right eye in quick succession instead of staying locked in place. He didn't blink. She heard Harry shout "is everything alright?" to her from behind; Malfoy shot one glance over her shoulder and took a step back, raising his hands in a placating gesture before turning to her again. She also gave her friend a thumbs-up to reassure him of whatever while not being entirely sure why she was even doing it in the first place.

"Really, I don't know what's so horrible about just _doing _the assignments you were given! I won't just consent to being your work slave, like your Slytherin friends might do," she argued after Harry had resumed picking around on the ground with a big and mossy stick.

"Oh. So, maybe this is something else entirely?" Malfoy whispered, placing one hand on his cheek, the other above his heart – or rather where his heart would be if he had one, she thought. Her next thought was that this was a comment as sophisticated as Ron slurping soup and she could be glad not to have said that out loud.

"So maybe you just want me out of your group?" he continued, now in a normal volume. "Imagine what old Slughorn would say to that! Do you see yourself above working with a_ filthy, evil Slytherin_, because frankly, I think that's a bit prejudi–"

He stopped, wheeling his head around to the grounds opposite the forbidden forest and squinting at something. His hand twitched and slowly reached into his robe, to the place where his wand was stored. Hermione followed his line of sight, but there was nothing there.

"What is it?" she asked impatiently, half expecting some sort of trap from him.

"Did you feel that?" he asked in a voice completely different from before. Dead serious. She found that she almost didn't recognise it, lacking the usual arrogant inflection. He brushed a lose strand of hair out of his face with his free hand – he had long ago stopped gelling it back. His eyes held a vacant expression as though he were lost deep in thought and Hermione only just noticed how they seemed to be made of liquid silver.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, raising up on her tiptoes – why, she didn't know – but Malfoy only hummed something non-committal, raising his eyes to the sky. His intense gaze made Hermione's heart beat faster in anticipation. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, he snapped out of it and looked back over her shoulder again.

"Found it!" she heard Ron's happy voice. Hermione turned around to see him only a few feet away, and he was holding a handful of green speckled with red lines in his hand. Harry was following not shortly behind. Their footsteps must have been muffled by the grass.

When he was only an arm's length away from her, the world ripped in two.

Ron was thrown forwards onto her, she onto Malfoy, and they flew to the ground, skittering over it and bending grass and flowers until they crashed into a thick tree, landing at its feet in a tangled heap of limbs and cloth. She tasted iron.

The ground were they had stood just a few seconds before was blown apart by a second lightning that was shimmering in all colours of the rainbow, and mud and small stones poured down upon them like missiles, cutting shallowly into their skin. The second hole was next to the slightly bigger first one and Hermione realized that they'd nearly been hit.

In a matter of seconds, the whole sky had been drenched in black, dark clouds indistinguishable against one another in one messy smear of ink. Thick droplets began to fall, one after one, until they formed a thick curtain of water.

The three of them were drenched before they could even get up.

Ron was first to rise, helping Hermione to her feet and vainly trying to shelter her from the rain. She in turn tried to help Malfoy who only shot her a dark look and got up himself. The ground shook once more, but with less violence than before, and the accompanying roar seemed to be a bit further away.

The rain was so thick that it acted as a barrier effectively cutting them off from everything that was going on around them, and when she turned around in a circle to locate Harry she could only see a grey figure to her right. She tried to get to him but was thrown from her feet once more. A loud crack. When she looked up again, Harry had already come shuffling towards her, his glasses in his right hand and wildly gesturing to the left, to the forest.

_The forest,_ he mouthed over the loud howl of the wind, _the forest. _She nodded and relayed the message to Ron by tugging at his sleeves and pointing into the darkness between the trees.

When she stepped in, everything went quiet, dry and cold. It was as though she had entered another dimension – if it weren't for the blood roaring in her ears, Hermione might have thought she'd gone deaf. Her breath formed small, puffy clouds that disintegrated in small, playful swirls.

Harry came in only one or two seconds behind her, taking her hand and expertly leading her a few feet away from the edge and into a small circle of four trees were she could easily sit on an extremely thick root. There was enough space for three more people – the forest was being surprisingly courteous, she thought, supplying them with such a convenient place on such short notice. She only noticed that Harry had been gone for a few seconds when he returned with Ron and Malfoy, which were both very sour looking, and placed them onto different roots as far away from each other as possible and sitting down between them. No one said anything.

It was even more quiet than before. The roaring in her ears had lessened to an acceptable degree, but her drenched clothes began to make her shiver in the cold. When she looked around she saw that the others were equally as wet and probably equally as distraught. Although – when she thought about it she noticed that she wasn't as shocked by the turn of events as she would have deemed appropriate for the situation. Maybe all this time with Harry had heightened her threshold of disaster to a level at which most things couldn't throw her off that easily. Or she just hadn't processed it yet. Both seemed probable.

When she saw Malfoy cradling his left hand in a slightly awkward fashion, she quickly said "let me fix that," and got out her wand, despite everything somehow proud to finally show off her mastery of the _Ferula_ spell she had gained over the summer, but when she pointed her wand at him and muttered the incarnation, nothing happened.

"It won't work," Malfoy said easily, his voice almost, _almost_ bored. "Enchanted items won't work. Wands are useless, too."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ron was the first to react, naturally, already getting ready to pounce onto the man opposite him every second. "What did you do?" Malfoy only rolled his eyes.

"I didn't do anything. This is a magical storm, _Weasel_, but I shouldn't be surprised that someone like you has never heard of that." He drew his nickname out in a long and pleasurable fashion, like one might hold a delicious strawberry in the mouth, turning it around and sucking every last luxurious drop of fruity juice out of it. Well, maybe _not quite_ like that – but it was comparable. Somehow.

And, of _course_, magical storm. The rainbow lightning should've given it away, really.

"What do you mean by that?" came Ron's still furious reply, but Harry only sighed and motioned for him to relax. "This doesn't help us accomplish anything." Ron backed down reluctantly and settled for silently glaring daggers at Malfoy.

Aside from their voices, it was still eerily quiet in the forest, and Hermione felt goosebumps on her skin that weren't _only _from the cold. The trees surrounding them were unnaturally high as was usual in the Forbidden Forest, raising up into the sky in long and mostly bare trunks without those little branches to climb upon, treetops cuddled together like sheep making it impossible to see the sky above. Regardless, the leaves alone shouldn't have been able to shield them from the piercing rain, and the brutal wind that probably still raged on outside should have at least caused a slight disturbance amongst the trees' crowns, but there wasn't even the tiniest of movements above.

"So, a magical storm, huh?" Harry said in a placative voice, punctuating the silence.

"I think the forest's own magic acts as some kind of shield from the magical thunderstorm," Hermione only _almost_ burst out, pointing above and happily relaying her theory. "I'm afraid it doesn't prevent the disturbance field from entering. I... guess it could be described as some sort of magical electromagnetic pulse, or something." Ron and Malfoy looked at her with a vacant expression, but she really didn't want to explain Muggle physics to them. At least Harry's eyes held a promise of dawning understanding.

She was only glad that at least some of the sunlight still managed to fight its way through the clouds.

"Well – do we have any idea when this storm is going to stop?" It was Harry's voice that had brought up the question and of course his emerald gaze was still directed straight at her. He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing them against the rim of his robes.

Ron scooted a bit closer to her on the root. Hermione pretended not to have noticed.

"I don't know. Could be a few minutes, could be hours, could be days." She discreetly shifted a bit to the left, away from Ron. "You saw how fast it appeared. I think it's a safe bet to assume that it could disappear just as fast and sudden."

"How could it have appeared so suddenly, anyway? I would guess that there should be at least _one_ person doing some kind of weather forecast."

Hermione only shrugged non-committally. Then she remembered something.

"You know," she began, "in hindsight, this explains a few things. If you'll remember, things _have_ been a bit strange this whole week. Some magical objects malfunctioning – your chocolate frog, for example," this was addressed at Ron, "and then there was Harry's _Expelliarmus _that got a bit too out of hand." Malfoy snorted slightly at that.

"I think those are all signs of the approaching storm. Although," she began to rub her chin, "I would have expected at least Dumbledore to figure out that this would happen. Or just _anyone_ else."

She was still thinking about this when Malfoy stood up, turning around and stepping between the trees.

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business."

She huffed, watching his retreating form with narrowed eyes. She didn't think it was the most intelligent idea to just run off alone into a highly dangerous territory, but it wasn't as if she'd tell him that – it wouldn't lead to anything, anyway. Malfoy had never been one to listen to the more intelligent solutions, she guessed, rather acting on impulse. She rubbed at her elbow. It was pretty red and a little bit swollen. In a few hours it would be sporting a really nasty bruise, she was sure.

"I don't like that we're stuck here with him." Of course Ron didn't and no one would have expected anything else, but Harry still shot him one of those apologetic smiles, shrugging his shoulders as if saying _whatever, can't be changed_. Putting his glasses back on, he remarked, "I still hope we can convince him to be at least a bit agreeable while we're in here." Ron only snorted _very_ loudly, reminding of a very content pig. From the way Harry was suppressing a grin, it seemed as though voice of a pig had won against voice of reason. Nothing new here.

That reminded her – it was still _freezing_! They would have to make a fire to get dry soon, or she'd lose all of her finally perfectly straight and pretty teeth to violent chattering.

She was just about to voice her appeal when they heard a light thump and a short, surprised yelp served medium dire.

So much for intelligent reasoning.

Hermione got up regardless, running towards the sound which wasn't very far away. After squeezing through some narrow trees she entered another small circle, slightly bigger than theirs, which was encircled by high grass that was dotted with blue at the end opposite her – the end were Malfoy was standing, wildly swinging his leg around while trying to shake off a brown figure of approximately Flitwick's height that was clenching its tiny fists into his trousers, shrieking in a high voice.

_Bowtruckle_, Hermione's mind supplied, _and a very large one_.

She didn't have another second to reflect on that because suddenly she was on her stomach with something on top of her. Instinctively, she turned around to use her body weight as momentum and throw it off, but the creature was just as quick and instantly crawled back onto her. She pressed her elbow into the Bowtruckle's stomach and her left hand at its forehead, trying to keep its snapping mouth from reaching her.

She saw two sets of hands tugging at the creature's arms, but it was too strong to pry apart from her, hellbent as it was on hurting her and biting her and clawing at her for whatever reason, mobilizing all its strength. Someone clenched at its neck to keep it still it for a short second in which the other person suddenly let go. That was enough, however, to give the creature an opportunity to swing freely and scratch her cheek – then it was hit by a branch right in the face, hard enough to stun it for a second. That was all Harry needed to throw it off its target, and when it landed on the ground it instantly scrambled away, admitting defeat and screeching loudly to notify its friend who swiftly let go of Malfoy's leg as though burned. Both ran back into the dark of the forest.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked with concern and offered her a hand, which she thankfully took. "Yeah, it's just a scratch," she answered, taking the tissue he handed her to wipe away the blood that was trickling down her face. Ron dusted something from her robe. "You, too?" Harry voiced louder for Malfoy to hear, but he only ignored him in favour of picking up the blue plants that had been strewn all around him on the ground. Without another word he went back into the direction of their meeting spot from before, nearly bumping into Ron on his way. Hermione thought that it was only for his own good that he missed his target.

"What's up his arse, now?" Ron asked. Harry only shook his head.

* * *

A/N:

So – I hope you've got a general idea of what's going on in this story, now. Next chapter will have some Draco/Hermione dialogue again, yay. Thanks to everyone who faved or alerted and of course to those who reviewed – it really means a lot :)


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